


Hot Coffee

by MercuryGray



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Coffee, D-Day, Enemies, Gen, Operation Overlord, Reader-Insert, Revenge, Staff Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24886402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryGray/pseuds/MercuryGray
Summary: The coffee is just about the only thing making these planning meeting bearable - the temperature is glacial and the company is terrible. The Lieutenant is not paid nearly enough to suffer fools -and Herbert Sobel is definitely one of those.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Hot Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a casual gauntlet on tumblr about Y/N stories always being about lovers and never about enemies.

There were some things the English did exceptionally well - courage under fire, fried fish, orderly lines.

Central heating, however, was not one of them, which was why, after a bone-chilling evening in a drafty billet in Aldbourne, a cup of hot coffee was an absolute necessity before sitting down in an equally drafty room for one of Colonel Sink's weekly briefings.

In fact, the coffee, served out of a huge silver urn at the back of the room, was one of the only things making these meetings bearable. 

It had been a grueling couple of days, and the Lieutenant was not functioning on quite as much sleep as she would have been comfortable with. With the invasion mere weeks away, it had been all hands on deck - and that included the staff of every available field hospital, who were busy packing trucks and checking surgical equipment for the next big push. North Africa, Italy, and now, finally, Normandy. "Easy as pie," her Major had declared, signing off on yet another requisition form. "D plus four and we're there. Though you'd think this was our first show, the way Sink's going on. Wants us up at Headquarters for some tomfool coordination meeting to go over the lay of the land with the regimental surgeon. You can handle that, can't you?"

Could she handle a few hours in a drafty situation room? Of course she could. Easier than storming the beach at Oran - or Licata, or Anzio, for that matter. 

There would even be hot coffee.

A drop from the urn fell on her wrist as she pulled her cup away, and she nearly spilled the whole thing at the shock.  _ Jesus Christ _ . It was going to be sitting for a little while, but wasn’t it dangerous to serve these things at that temperature?

She took a few steps back from the table to wait for the rest of the officers to arrive, watching the steam off of her cup with fascination while listening, idly, to the conversations of those around her as the rest of the 506th's officers filter in, discussing the price of beer and the latest sports scores.

"Careful," she heard someone say from behind her. Lewis Nixon joined her at the back of the room, a cup of his own in his hand. "They're thinking of weaponizing it."

"Thanks, I've been warned." She presented her wrist, the burn already beginning to blister. 

"Need someone to kiss it and make it better?" Nixon asked with a devil-may-care smile. She snorted - with only fifty odd nurses in the hospital and their billets only a short way up the road, it seemed everyone had a story or two to share about the 506th's officers, and Lieutenant Lewis Nixon was no exception. A dark-haired charmer with a degree from Yale, it seemed that not even a wife and son at home were enough to stop the 506th’s intelligence officer from playing the field a little - though no one in her outfit was starry-eyed enough to take him seriously. 

But there was no time for a response - someone was calling the meeting to order. “There's a seat next to Sobel,” Nixon offered, pointing to a lone chair in the middle of a row. “I’d rather stand.”

Sobel. It was not the first time she’d heard the name, and none of the previous occasions had been particularly good ones. Sprained ankles from jumping fences that had not needed to be jumped, dehydration from a pack march that had gone too far on too little water, and, on one memorable occasion, a broken arm gained from pushing a man aside and over a rock fall. Stupid, useless wounds that a good commander would have felt himself ashamed to have inflicted on his men. And the only thing they had in common was a name - Herbert Sobel, from Easy Company.

So this was the idiot responsible. From the back of the room she could see only a tall head of dark hair, an almost fawning pose to the shoulders, a pad of paper. An officer’s officer - or someone playing at being one.

It never paid to arrive late to these meetings as a woman -- one either stood in the back, or, if one was feeling particularly brave and wanted to risk a few hands on one’s skirt and some whistles, one attempted to run the gauntlet of the officers trying to climb into an empty seat. 

She considered the cup of coffee in her hand and decided that was a risk she was going to take today.

“Excuse me, is that seat taken?” She asked sweetly down the row of officers, grateful that today had been a particularly good hair day. Six or seven eager bodies sat up and took notice. 

“All yours, Lieutenant,” one of the others promised with a smile, moving his feet just a little so she could shimmy down the row, well away of the lascivious glances her mid-section was receiving as she did so. (Her boyfriend had informed her on several occasions that she had a spectacular rear end, and she made use of it now, smiling as she went.) She was a half-a chair away from Sobel when she paused, jerking a little at her skirt as if it were caught on the chair from the row in front of her and smiling apologetically at the officers, some of whom she was sure were content to admire the view for a minute.

Finally she let it come free, and took a half a step forward before catching her foot on an invisible crack in the floor and letting her coffee cup fly free of her hands and launch its still incredibly hot contents squarely into Sobel’s lap. 

The response was immediate. “You bitch!” He sputtered, loudly and without thinking about it, half standing and sending his chair squealing backwards, trying, unsuccessfully, to mop the liquid from his trousers (never mind everything else) underneath.

“CAPTAIN SOBEL!”

The room was silent, all eyes fixed on the man who had spoken -- the man who would be leading the day’s meeting and who had strong opinions about how his officers behaved, especially towards women, especially towards the women who would make sure as many of them made it home alive as possible.

Colonel Sink might have been a hard-nosed bastard sometimes, but he had rules when it came to manners.

The Lieutenant tried to look as small and wounded and as sorry as possible. “I’m so sorry, sir, I tripped, and the coffee --"

“Apologize,” Sink ordered, fixing his officer with a glare that could have cut through granite. “That sort of language should never be heard in my ops room. And she has already done you the great compliment of overlooking it.”

“My apologies,” Sobel managed tonelessly, scarcely meeting her eye, for which she could only admit to being glad for.

“You are excused, Captain,” Sink said, allowing the man the basic dignity of leaving to go change his uniform. “Lieutenant, I suggest you take your seat.” She nodded, hurrying into the empty seat she’d been aiming for and sitting down, trying not to smile as she tucked the now-empty cup under her chair. It would be a long, cold meeting - but absolutely worth the sacrifice.

The moment the meeting was over, Nixon grabbed for her shoulder, pulling her out of the crowd going back to work and stepping to the side. "So, what was that about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a level look.

“The coffee,” he murmured with a sly look. “There’s no way that was an accident."

Could she trust him with it? Did she dare? "Payment in kind," she said, matter-of-factly. And Lewis Nixon only grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> Oran, Licata, and Anzio were all landing places for the Army Nurse Corps as they followed the Army for the invasions of North Africa, Sicily, and mainland Italy, respectively. At Oran, members of the 48th Surgical Hospital actually landed at H-Hour plus 8, while the beach was still under live fire, and began delivering care as soon as they were on the beach despite a severe lack of supplies. These women were battle-hardened veterans by the time of Operation Overlord, and would have known it.
> 
> The first place a solider would see a nurse in the chain of evacuation is at the field hospital level, after being seen by a company medic, a regimental casualty clearing station, and a battalion aid station. Field hospitals are the precursor to mobile surgical hospitals, and operate as an independent unit.
> 
> All nurses have what’s known as relative rank, starting at Second Lieutenant. This accords them the privileges of being addressed as an officer, as well as the authority to have their commands obeyed by hospital corpsmen, but does not allow them equal pay. While a second lieutenant in the regular infantry might be making $130 a month, a nurse in the same theater will take home roughly $90, which isn’t nearly enough money to put up with stupid men like Sobel.


End file.
